The Language of Blood and Love
by shadesofstory
Summary: The immediate aftermath of 3x7.


Clarke stared at her bed, white blankets stained dark with black blood. The sun set, the last of its light filtering through the windows. Shadows gathered in the corners, and Clarke wondered absently why the candles hadn't been lit yet. The answer collided the ache and numbness chasing each other in the hollow of her chest, but still she just stared, unmoving, as the details of the truth sunk in.

The candles would not be lit. The girl who lit the candles was dead.

When the sun had risen that morning, Lexa had been alive. Her eyes had been bright, studying Clarke like they always did, constantly seeing through the cracks that were hidden from everyone else.

 _Maybe someday you and I will owe nothing more to our people._

Clarke closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the memory. That's what it was now, she realized, even though it had happened only hours before. It belonged to a part of her life that was forever thrust into a past tense that only got further and further away as each new moment dove headfirst from future to present.

 _I hope so._

Had she known when she said those words that the someday was never coming? Clarke forced her eyes open again, her focus back on the blood. When their lips met, she had tasted the salt of Lexa's tears. She had fallen in love with the commander, and a part of her knew that the commander was not destined for a life free from the duty to her people. Heda was bound. Titus had said it in the end.

 _Gonplei kom Heda kigon feva._

But some part of her still had dared to hope for life as Lexa and Clarke instead of death as Heda and Wanheda. She had been the girl in the sky, drawing pictures of her dreams of the ground. And then she had been the girl from the sky, drawing pictures of her life on the ground. The first time she heard the grounder's language, it had sounded beautiful. Speaking it had felt like coming back to a home she never realized she had. When she had left the launch ship and taken her first steps into the woods, life overwhelmed her. She should have known then, she realized, that with vibrant life came haunting death. Heda had known that her own hope of a life where nothing more was owed to her people was false. But Lexa had allowed herself to hope for it anyway.

Clarke ignored Murphy as he pounded against the door, yelling for Titus to let them out. She remembered the first time she had heard the grounder words for I love you.

 _Ai hod yu in._

It made sense to her, that those would be the words. So close to the harsher sounding English- I'll hold you in. She felt the heat of more tears streaming silently down her face as she repeated the sounds in her head. I'll hold you in. _Ai hod yu in._

And she had. She had been holding Lexa, just hours before. She had traced the tattoos on her tanned skin, like she had always wanted to, even in moments of hatred. She had kissed her, closed her eyes and let her whole world narrow to the feeling of Lexa's lips against her own, given in to the surprising gentleness of a ruthless commander, succumb to a world that was neither sky nor ground but instead just home. In the warmth of Lexa's bed, with Lexa's arms wrapped around her and Lexa's heartbeat steady against her own, Clarke had remembered why living mattered as much as surviving.

"Clarke!"

She didn't respond.

"Clarke," Murphy repeated, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to see him. "We've gotta figure out how to get of here."

His face was bruised, and his voice was desperate. Clarke blinked, realizing she didn't care. For the first time since they landed, she didn't care at all whether they lived or died. So she didn't respond.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened to the commander," Murphy kept going, unnerved by the stranger seeming to stare at him from Clarke's face, "but Titus is going to come back here, and he'll probably kill us."

"No," Clarke answered, her voice rough and strained from crying. "He promised her he wouldn't."

"Come on Clarke, you know we can't just take his word for it."

But the mention of promises brought back a flood of images. Ayden, vowing to protect the 13th clan. The Natblida all looking up at their Heda as she taught them, their eyes wide with admiration and love.

Lexa, smiling slightly as she reassured Clarke that even after her death, Skaikru would be protected. Lexa, kneeling, swearing fealty to her. She had looked up at her that night like she had looked up at her that afternoon, eyes free from the burden of ruling, searching Clarke's face like she was all that mattered in the world. Lexa had been vulnerable without qualification, and the words had etched themselves into Clarke's soul even if she never said them out loud- _Ai hod yu in_. She had felt an irrational protectiveness for the girl who the world thought was too strong to need protection. And now that girl was dead.

But Murphy had triggered something else as well, something that surfaced through the haze of loss. The memory of Ontari and yet another conversation with Lexa about her death solidified in Clarke's mind, and her bloodstream was suddenly filled with iron purpose that stopped her knees from giving way underneath her.

 _"Do you ever talk about anything other than your death?"_

She shrugged Murphy's hands off her shoulders and walked over to the door, pulling on the handle.

 _"Thank you for backing me."_

Clarke knew she had to get to the conclave and make sure Ontari didn't win. She could do nothing more for Lexa now than protect the flame her commander had trusted so faithfully.

 _Don't be afraid._

The words echoed in her head, and she could see every detail of Lexa's face as she said them, her voice breaking with pain even as she tried to comfort. She could still feel the strength of Lexa's thin fingers grasping her own, concerned not by the fact that she was dying, that her blood, the sacred nightblood, was seeping from her body, but instead by the fact that Clarke was afraid.

 _Ai gonplei ste odon._

Clarke pounded against the door, hands shaking, desperate now to get out of the room and down to the conclave. The grounder language, beautiful even in vengeance. _Jus drein jus daun._

Beautiful even in death. _Ai gonplei ste odon._

She had watched the light leave Lexa's eyes, watched the commander watch her for the last time. Clarke had felt her last breath, mingling with her own as she pressed her lips to Lexa's. She had tasted the salt of her blood, just as she had tasted the salt of her tears. She could not hold her now. The commander's debt to her people had been paid with her life, as she had always known it would be.

Clarke heard footsteps approaching the door and she closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the afternoon wash over her one last time before she entered a world that for the first time felt foreign. A world that for the first time left her wondering whether it even deserved to be saved. A world that she would live in without Lexa only until her debt to her own people had been paid. Clarke opened her eyes. She would protect the flame. She would protect her people.

 _Maybe someday you and I will owe nothing more to our people._

For the first time, Clarke knew she, like the commander, was going to give her life to pay her debt, and she heard the echo of Lexa's voice in her memory.

 _Death is not the end, Clarke._

She looked back at the bed one last time, whispering the only words she had left in a language that suddenly felt empty.

 _"Until we meet again."_

And then the door swung open and life crashed back in.


End file.
